


Greedy

by flyingisland



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, BDSM, Bondage, Consensual, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masochism, Orgasm Delay/Denial, S&M, Sadism, Sex Tapes, Shizaya - Freeform, Spanking, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:31:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6245329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingisland/pseuds/flyingisland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man seeking revenge against Orihara Izaya gets a lot more than he bargained for in the form of a single, seemingly innocuous DVD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greedy

Kato Youta finds himself stumbling away from the apartment of an information broker in one piece.

His bag feels heavier than he expected, thumping against his side as he runs down the darkened streets with everything he has. His veins are filled with so much adrenaline that he’s not sure if he’ll ever come down from this high. His knuckles ache, blood-caked and raw, skin torn and embedded with broken glass.

Eight months ago, Orihara Izaya ruined his life, and now it’s time for revenge.

When he makes it back to his basement of an apartment, he takes special care to lock the door behind him. He can hear the informant’s voice bouncing around in his thoughts, see that psychopathic smile cracking open to bellow a laugh, to chide him maybe, to destroy everything even further.

He dumps his bag on the floor, shuffling through all of the papers and videos, eying each file name warily and wondering how many of these it will take to put Orihara in the ground. All he needs is one sliver of information about the yakuza. If he can leak it, they’ll know who it was. They won’t stop until Orihara is begging for his life.

And even then, they’ll squash him like the worm he is.

A specific disc catches his attention. There are names and dates on all of the others, written in a thin, neat script. This particular CD, however, is scrawled only with a single, smeared _“X”._ As though to mark this proverbial spot.

As though this tape is somehow superior to the others.

He takes it carefully out of the case, grabbing his laptop and setting it comfortably in his lap. The room is dark save for the light from his computer and the moonlight filtering through his single, dusty window. He places the disc in the tray, pushing it gently and waiting as it loads.

It’s a video. He allows it to open in the player.

At first, the screen is black. He can hear shuffling around, muffled voices. Someone is breathing very hard, and there’s a horrified moment in which he wonders if Orihara has gotten involved in something very sick.

However, when the lens cap appears to be removed and the shot comes into focus, he finds that he’s been graced with even more questions and very few answers.

Orihara is lying naked on all fours.

Well, sort of.

His hands are tied behind his back, ankles bound together. He’s blindfolded, saliva running in thin strings down the gag that is pressed between his lips. There’s a humming that Kato can’t quite place, but Orihara is twitching. His breathing is erratic. This scene continues for over a minute, until the shadowy figure of another man inches toward the corner of the shot.

This room isn’t familiar, he notes. This bed is not the one that he saw in the informant’s apartment.

Where is he? Who is this man? Why is Orihara keeping this video in his office?

The other man rests a palm firmly against Orihara’s ass. He strokes the milky expanse of it, makes a low guttural noise. Then, he gives it a hard smack.

Izaya flinches, gurgling through the gag. He stretches out, catlike, offering up his ass like he wants this somehow. He’s spanked again, over and over—ten times, Kato counts. His backside is flush red. He can barely make out the outline of fingermarks against the informant’s ivory skin. For some reason, he can’t seem to tear his eyes away.

The other man unzips his pants, unleashing something thick and veiny, obscenely hard. He pumps at it a few times, whispering dirty things to Izaya just loud enough that Kato has to strain his ears to hear. He’s entirely too horrified to turn up the volume, but what he does hear causes heat to ravage his body like wildfire.

 _“Do you want this, flea_?” the voice croons, gripping at the informant’s ass cheek so hard that his fingers sink in, _“I can’t fucking hear you.”_

Orihara chokes out a noise so obscene that he almost turns off his computer.

But this is good—this is _so good_. This is blackmail material if he ever saw it. The feared informant, Orihara Izaya: reduced to a sniveling slave by some random nobody. Orihara Izaya, cock-hungry and begging for it like a dirty whore.

This is exactly what he was looking for. Far better, actually.

Before either he or Izaya expect it, the man pushes his cock deep inside in one quick thrust, shuddering a laugh as Orihara makes a noise that might be pained, but seems a lot more erotic than that.

He wonders if Orihara consented to this. Is he being tortured? Or is he…

_Is he loving this?_

The man doesn’t waste any time. Orihara is being thrown forward and back, barely able to keep himself upright as he’s fucked. There’s a cord between his legs, it seems, that’s jostled around with each thrust. Kato squints to make it out, recognizing a small remote attached to the end, the dial switched to max.

It’s a vibrator, he discovers, fastened somehow to Orihara’s erection somewhere between his thighs.

The man pulls out after a few minutes, splattering cum along the informant’s back and grating out a curse.

 _“Look at you,”_ he breathes, palming Izaya’s reddened backside and seeming to savor the way he jerks, _“always so greedy.”_

And the video cuts to black.

Kato checks to see if it’s over, but there are still forty-five minutes remaining. The shuffling is back, then the sound of heavy breathing, then finally, _that buzzing_.

 The cap is removed again, and he finds himself looking down into Izaya’s glassy eyes.

The informant’s arms are still behind his back. He’s on his knees, shaking on an unfamiliar carpet as a foreign hand works its way through his hair. The gag is snapped loose. The man’s hand takes its time pulling it from his mouth. A long strand of drool follows it from his lips. He doesn’t say a word, staring in hungry need into the camera.

The frame shakes as the man seems to toss the gag away. Orihara’s erection pokes out into the air, wrapped up in a thin cord that ties a fizzling egg vibrator to the swollen head. He’s shaking gently, brows low and cheeks hot.

 _“You’re hungry, huh,”_ the voice sighs, gripping the informant by the hair and pulling.

Izaya grins lazily. He opens his mouth.

And he chokes when the man shoves his erection inside, dragging him down by his hair.

To his credit, he seems to grow accustomed to the feeling immediately. He’s swallowing the thing whole, allowing himself to be dragged forward and back as he gobbles the entire thing up. It’s a slobbery mess, completely obscene. Kato almost feels bad for him.

Tears form at the corners of his eyes. He’s wobbling dangerously close to falling off-balance. He seems to have trouble sitting still, wriggling around as the vibrator continues to assault him. He lets out a whimper, arching his back a little as he swallows that thick, veiny cock again. The other man slows, but doesn’t stop.

 _“Don’t you dare fucking cum_ ,” the voice huffs, pulling out and pumping at his erection, stroking the messy head against Izaya’s cheek, _“You’ll wait until I let you.”_

He finishes then, strands of cum slinging along the informant’s lips, down his chin, in his hair.

Orihara smirks into the camera, mouth swollen. He looks like he’s won something, like this is exactly what he wants. The man doesn’t yell at him then, just allows him to shake and grin, takes his free hand and spreads a string of cum over Izaya’s lips.

And the screen is black again.

This time, it switches to a different scene immediately. Orihara is lying on his back, tangled in the sheets on the bed. The egg vibrator has been removed, but something much bigger buzzes between his legs, jiggling halfway out of his ass. His wrists rest above his head, tied together with a thick cloth. The gag is clenched between his teeth, not clamped down at all, the straps resting loosely against his sweaty cheeks as he squints up into the camera.

 _“Don’t drop it,”_ the voice says, deep and husky, _“or I’ll spank you again.”_

Orihara nods at that, struggling a moan through the rubber as he writhes about. The hand returns, camera drawing closer to focus on his belly and the erection that slaps helplessly against it.

The hand grabs at his cock, pumping it torturously slow. He squirms, making a lot of little noises. He arches into the touch, eyes closed and muscles straining. He seems like he’s already close to cumming.

 _“Wait,”_ the voice barks, pumping faster, _“don’t cum until I tell you to.”_

Orihara looks desperate then, bending his knees and spreading his thighs as wide as they’ll go. The noises he’s making become more and more needy, increasingly filthy. He’s garbling incoherently, begging maybe, barely making sense through the gag until it slips from his lips and rolls onto the sheets.

The hand immediately stops and the video cuts out.

Kato is momentarily terrified. He barely even notices the tent in his own pants, barely comprehends the way his hand comes to rub himself through the fabric. This is disgusting, truly, and he’s never felt this way about a man before.

It’s something about Orihara, he thinks. Watching him suffer is maddeningly addicting.

Another scene appears on the screen: Izaya is sprawled out across the other man’s lap on the bed. The gag is tied back in place, blindfold covering the informant’s eyes.

A hand is stroking at his ass, rubbing small circles. It’s still rosy from earlier.

Then, as he expects, it pulls back, slapping down with a resounding _clap_.

Orihara’s skin jiggles with the force of it. He lets out the tiniest of noises. This repeats three more times, growing gradually just a little bit harder, drawing out louder noises with each connection of palm against skin.

When Kato is sure that he’s going to faint from the strain of it, the informant surprises him.

He shakes with the effort of it, but he raises his ass higher up, begging for more punishment.

And, of course, the other man delivers.

His ass is scarlet by the end of it. He’s convulsing with something akin to need. The man takes him then, rolling him out on his back and exposing his weeping erection to the camera. There are no toys inside of him this time. The man unties his wrists, pulls the blindfold from his eyes, the gag from his lips. He steps so far back that he’s completely out of the frame.

 _“Touch yourself,”_ he says, and Orihara does.

The informant grasps clumsily at his erection, pumping his fist in slow successions. His eyes train on something just out of the camera’s view, surely the other man, as his lips part and his eyes glaze over. He’s moaning openly, smile tugging at his mouth. His hair is damp and sticky, face shiny with sweat and drying cum. His wrists hold the faintest outlines of the cloth that bound him.

His figure curves and rolls about, he sighs out little noises that make every hair on the back of Kato’s neck stand on end. His cock weeps. He’s working himself so roughly that his entire body jerks at the force of it.

_“S-Shizu—“_

_“Yes, cum.”_

And he does, violently. Semen splatters along his stomach and chest, onto the sheets, down to the floor. He’s huffing as though there isn’t enough air to feed his lungs, a jumble of words leaving his lips in one final moan.

And, of course, the video fades to black right as his eyes close and his muscles begin to relax.

Kato can’t seem to shake the image of his small chest heaving with the effort of breathing.

The final clip begins when there are only sixty seconds left. He relishes the idea of showing this gem to the entire district—the city, the world! He’s already imagining all of the websites where he can post it: _“Orihara Izaya Takes It Hard”._ The piece of shit will be humiliated. He’ll be tracked down. His name will forever be cemented in the memory of how he begged for this, how pathetically he allowed himself to be degraded for simple pleasure.

Orihara is fumbling with the camera in the video, dressed now in an oversized t-shirt under a clean set of blankets as someone opens and closes a door off-camera.

 _“Are you okay?”_ the voice asks, the same one from earlier.

He sounds concerned now, the sharpness completely vanished from his tone.

Orihara laughs, stretching surely tired muscles and grinning like a mad man into the camera.

 _“Of course,”_ he giggles, like a spoiled child, _“Actually, you should be a little rougher next time. I want to feel it for a few days afterward.”_

A figure slides into the bed behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist. It’s dark, so the camera takes a moment to focus on the man’s face.

 _“You won’t be happy until I really hurt you,”_ he says, mournfully.

And his features finally come into focus, all of the little pixels fading away, revealing the one face that Kato could have never imagined in all of his nightmares. His stomach drops, throat suddenly tight. His heart hammers in his chest.

This is wrong. This can’t be possible. There is no way this can be happening. _It’s not happening!_

_It’s not right at all!_

Heiwajima Shizuo presses a gentle kiss against Orihara’s cheek, reaching a hand toward the lens.

The video ends then, black screen casting his reflection right back up at him.

He can’t release this, he realizes, dread swelling in his chest.

He won’t survive to see the aftermath if he does.

As the video loops, beginning again with Orihara tied up on the bed, he wonders what he’s supposed to do now. If Izaya is in cahoots with Shizuo, then there isn’t much he _can_ do. Even the idea of the monster’s wrath is enough to make bile rise in his throat.

He looks around at all of the files, strewn haphazardly along his floor. The tape says, _“Do you want this, flea? I can’t fucking hear you.”_

He closes his laptop hastily, thrusting it across the room. It skids to a stop just beyond his bathroom door. He thinks that he actually might vomit.

The audio continues to play even with his computer closed, and as he’s wondering if he should try to sneak all of the files back to Orihara somehow, he can hear the informant’s little moans.

_“Look at you, always so greedy.”_

He should have known that screwing over Orihara Izaya wouldn’t be so easy.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this prompt a couple of weeks ago on tumblr and went back and forth for a long time about whether or not to write it! I really hope I don't gain a reputation as someone who only writes smut, but I guess... if it happens, it happens! Regardless, Izaya wins no matter what, doesn't he? The only person alive who can manage to screw him is, well... Shizuo, of course.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I'm sure I'll be back in no time with more sin.


End file.
